


Watch as the Heavens Cry

by slian_martreb



Series: Watch  as the Heavens Cry [1]
Category: Jewish Scripture & Legend
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-16
Updated: 2013-09-15
Packaged: 2017-12-26 17:16:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 13,811
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/968473
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/slian_martreb/pseuds/slian_martreb
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which there is God and angels and sinning and, most importantly, redemption</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> This was supposed to be a very porn-y fic written in honor of 6-6-06. It turned out a lot less porn and a lot more plot than I had intended.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which God creates everything.

In the beginning, there is only Him. Him in His All-Encompassing Glory and Awesomeness. Vastness. He Is and He Is everywhere. His Mercy flows, moving through all of what isn’t and suddenly...

It Is.

And They Are.

Together with the Sun and the Sky and the Stars and the Moon. The barren Mother Earth and the Universe, the entirety of all that Is, All Encompassing. They did not exist and suddenly, They do. They think, though They do not Know and then, when They do Know, They strive to Understand. They search and They explore. God gives the Earth her children, her creatures and her plants and They study. They examine every flower, every petal, every blade of grass and every newborn creature. They watch as these creatures live, eat, survive, surrender. They meet Birth and Death and Sickness. The feelings that every living thing emotes, radiating, seeking to be absorbed in ways They do not understand. 

And when They stumble across something that They do not Understand, He is there to help Them, to teach Them and to guide Them. They do not know what this need is that drives Them, pushes Them, encourages Them to Know and Understand All for His happiness. All they Know is that they must Understand all of His creation for His Glory. They must Sing and Praise His Name and His Work.

Slowly then, over time, They come to Understanding. They discover the purpose of every created thing. Of every instance in Creation. That the wind must blow so that it may shake a branch that will loosen a leaf which will, in turn, flutter to the ground to protect the tiniest of caterpillars from the heat of the sun. They learn that a rock must fall, just here, into a stream and divert its course so that in months, ( _years, centuries_ ), when a parched man stumbles through the desert, thrown from his home, nourishment will be there for him.

But it is before all of this happens, before there is even a concept of these things; when there is only the Understanding to comprehend it when it will occur that He calls them to Him, to His Seat. Standing before Him, They can feel His love for Them, flowing over and enveloping Them all.

_Names_ , He tells Them. _You Must have Names_. 

But ‘Names’ is a word they do not Understand and so He explains. He shows them that just as it will be Adam’s task to name the creatures of the Earth, it is His to Name Those above it. 

They do not know what an ‘Adam’ is but They are sure that He will explain.

So They come before Him, one by one, no longer the whole They once were. In one instant They have lost Their collectiveness and now–now They are simply ‘they.’ A mass of creatures, stumbling through the clouds that surround His seat, they are confused and unsure and lost.

But, frightened as they are to lose the comfort of Them, of They, or Theirs, they still come before Him. They marvel as He gives to each of them something of Himself, teaches them that they are being given this extra part so that they will know that they will never be alone -- even though others may be far away. They pass before Him and His Glory, and as they do He speaks a Word, their names. And to each, the name ‘El.’ The Name that should be His alone but that He gives to them, a gift, a salvation. A comfort in the loneliness of being unique. 

_Gavriel_ is the first.

Then _Rafael_.

_Azraphele_. 

_Michael_.

_Uriel_

_Daniel_. 

They pass before Him in hundreds, countless numbers, and there is a never ending supply of names. They each swell with Themselves, with own-ness, shifting and changing to accommodate their new Purpose, individual and theirs alone.

The Healer.

The Guide.

The Protector.

To each their own, one by one, ten by ten, hundreds by hundreds and each cannot believe that They was as many as they _are_. They are awed by the vastness of them, so much more than _They_ ever could have been and with a far greater capacity for Understanding. There is a feeling as though it will never end, this procession that they form before Him so that they may receive the Kindness that He bestows upon them in providing them each with a Name and a Task. And, in addition to these gifts of Name and Task, each is also given a Rank, special and singular to their Purpose. And though it separates them further, somehow it brings them together: the Malachim, the Seraphim, the Cherubim. So very many of _them_.

Until–until there is just one left. And the Heavenly Chorus stills as it marvels. There is something special about this One. This One is different than the rest, than the Others that the ‘Them’ has become. And they wait, tense, overwhelmed by feelings (such a strange thing feelings are, they think, having never had them before) of confusion and anticipation and fear, though they do not truly have a name for these things and then–

The last One steps forward.

Face and features, strong. Hair, dark and long and flowing. Nose standing out in proud prominence.

Michael–so strange to think as _Michael_ instead as one of _Them_ –watches. And, as he watches, he becomes aware of a self. _His_ self as maleness flows through him. He can feel his own being as it changes to adapt to this awareness, adapts to a physical being where none was before. An individual Consciousness flows through him and he notes differences in what he was and what he _is_. Michael, becoming aware of his own self and his own Purpose, watches as the last One is given Its own.

_My beloved_ , the Lord says, His voice weighted with sadness, though none of the Congregation knows that this is the name for the sound that makes them each want to wail. Alone, and yet together, still.

_Lord_ , the One standing alone says, falling to bended knee, head lowered in...question? Desire? Fear? Michael does not know what has caused this One to come before the Lord as no other had before. Too, its hair has fallen to cover its face and Michael can see no emotion in its eyes or face to help him name the sound in its voice.

_A special task is yours_ , His Holiness says, Voice booming throughout the Holy Congregation. _And with it, a special name_.

_Anything My Lord_ , It says. And though Michael cannot see its face, he can hear that its voice is filled with awe at being so personally addressed. _Please_.

A strange and foreign feeling–though in truth they are all strange and foreign–fills Michael. It is a great injustice that the One is being so singled out from the rest of the Congregation; unjust that no other angel should be given this honor that the One did no noticeable thing to deserve. Michael concentrates on this emotion for a moment and then–Jealousy. The feeling is named and now, now that Michael knows it, he may fight it. And he does, sighing with the rest of the Holy Congregation at the sound in the One’s voice, the need to please, the desperate desire to have a task and a purpose like all the Others.

The Adon sighs after them, and the strength of it, the hopelessness in it nearly bowls Michael over, the breath of it blowing through the feathers of his wings, unsettling even the softest down. For no reason of logic that he can discern, his stomach grows queasy. 

_It is not a task to give lightly_ , the Lord says. _Though given it must be_.

_Anything, Lord-please. I only wish–_ the One says, voice and body both shining with eagerness.

_First, you must Know your task to accept it_ , the Lord says. 

_Of course I acce–_

_It is a choice to make_ , the Lord intones. 

And there–another feeling. Michael searches, thinks, concentrates, names it...Disappointment. The One should not have interrupted the Lord. Another feeling–quickly named Pity–fills him as well. That the One should be so challenged, so early, so soon.

But a chance! The Lords is speaking and the One is to be given a chance! 

_As you are challenged, so you will challenge_ , the Lord explains. _Your task will be yours alone. You shall have no help from the Others and you shall stand against them._

_Against–against them, Lord_ , the One echoes, voice wavering. Michael does not Understand, but he knows that he is not alone in his ignorance; the entire congregation swayed in shock at the Lord’s words.

_If you accept your task_ , the Lord reminds the One. _If you accept_

_But of course I accept_ , the One says again, voice filled with–confusion. _Lord, why would–_

There is a Collective gasp of shock that ripples through the Holy Congregation, far greater than their previous shock, and it ruffles through Michael’s feathers, making the hair at the back of his neck stand on edge. The One has questioned the Lord. This display is making him, as well as some of the Others, feel slightly sick. Beside him, one of the Seraphim has fallen, eyes closed. 

_Because it is Needful_ , comes the Answer. _There will be other creatures. Men. Made in My Image. Not Malachim_ , the Lord says loudly as they start to voice their dismay once again. _Not more of you, or the Seraphim or the Cherubim. They shall not see My face, or speak with Me as you do. They will not have wings as you do and they shall not dwell among you, here in Heaven. They will not come into their world Knowing. They shall only be able to Try. Try and Do. And when they Try, they shall Question_.

_Question you, My Lord_? the One says, voice filled with–horror.

_It will be in their nature_ , the Lord states. _As it is in yours_.

There is an outcry. As one, They surge upon the Lord’s dais, converging on both Him and the One. Confusion and anger and sadness. The Lord is going to create other beings to Question Him. On Purpose?

The Lord speaks a word of Calm and they still, though Michael falters in his step, stumbling, and the One catches him from where It still kneels, protecting him from a fall before It turns back to the Lord. 

_They will question so that they may come to their own Understanding_ , the Lord explains in the sudden expectant silence and, suddenly, amazingly, it makes sense. Of course. 

_But they must be made to Question_ , the Lord continues. 

_Made to–_

_Yes. Made to Question so they may come to Understanding. They must be made to Seek Me out. They must Want me of their own Will_.

Michael does not understand this word, Will. 

_Will you do it_? the Lord asks, His Voice weighted once more, weighted with the heaviness of duty about to be done. _The Others will come to shun you. Men will distrust you. They will not know that you are one of Mine and Precious to Me, though you are_. There is a pause. _If you so choose, if you accept, I shall give you two names to be with you, when others have left you. And your reward, at the End of Days, shall be Greater than any Others’ though you will be expelled from Heaven before that day_.

_What names_? the One asks. And now, Its eyes shine with–Michael searches, deep, digs, and finds–defiance. Though Michael does not know where the One has found defiance in the face of this horrible proclamation. To be thrown from Heaven? From the Lord’s company and Grace? Unthinkable. Terrible. Devestating.

_They shall call you Satan_ , the Lord says, and His voice is sad when He says this. _But you shall always be My Lucifer_.

There is silence. 

_Lucifer_ , the One repeats, name yet unaccepted. 

_Lucifer_ , the Lord says yet again. 

_What is its meaning_? the One asks, voicing Michael’s own silent question.

A pause and then–a great Heaviness and Michael knows that the Lord is saying something to the One that they will never know. He wants to cry, wail, fly into the Earth’s sky with a scream and a yell at being denied the Lord’s voice for a moment when it is being granted to another. He knows, even now, that Jealousy is a devious and dangerous opponent, capable of taking him unawares.

The Heaviness lifts, finally, and the Congregation takes a Collective breath, watching as the One rises from his–so clearly ‘his,’ and Michael does not know how he did not see it before–knee, as the Lord Himself steps down from His seat to take the One into His arms, place a kiss upon his cheek, upon the other and then release him. 

Lucifer’s eyes are shining with wetness, and the name for this wetness comes to Michael’s mind as they slip from Lucifer’s eyes and become tears, charting a path down his cheeks. And Michael knows before it is said–

_I accept_! Lucifer cries, voice ringing through the air for all to hear and his wings snap out from behind him, and he rises into the air with a clap and a violent yell. Not a moment later, the Heavens open up with an echoed shout to cry and mourn the loss of their Beloved.


	2. Part Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Michael learns and lot and, most importantly, that he doesn't know much after all.

Michael is learning about water. 

He spends ten years trying to understand water in its purest form, another ten trying to understand rain. He passes three on condensation and evaporation. Three and a half on the rivers and another six months on their courses. One year studying dew in the early morning, as the sun sheds the stillness of her slumber and begins to rise. Five on the oceans and all they contain and why. Three terrible years on sweat that threaten to destroy his wings and two only marginally better years on snow–the novelty of snowballs and snow-angels wears off after three months. Snow angels themselves are a particular curiosity that Michael chooses to leave to men and their incomprehensible ways. Sleet, in only one year, was easier, even if it was equally as uncomfortable. And then eleven _more_ years trying to put it all together. 

Fifty years.

Fifty years and all the while, whenever he’d had the need for a break, or something frustrating enough to make sweat look simple by comparison, he’d turned to one other thing. One other thing that he still cannot Understand, no matter how hard he tries.

Tears. 

They elude him completely, baffle him. He is the Archangel Michael, God’s Servant and though the Laws that bind man hold no power over him; though he flies, alone, higher than all the other Malachim, Seraphim and Cherubim; though he is all of these things, still he cannot Understand these tiny droplets of salt water. Even the word, ‘tears’, is something that has little meaning to him; a word that men had invented for himself to name this strange…happening. 

He remembers, the first time he saw this...strange happening. When he first became himself, and the entire Celestial Hierarchy was established, he had seen tears. He had watched, mystified as he’d been mystified by everything, as the wetness had gathered in Lucifer’s eyes before they spilled over and the Lone One had shot into the sky, never to return to Heaven again as one of the Congregation. He had thought them a thing only Angels capable of though he had never shed tears himself, or seen tears fall from the eyes of the other Angels either. 

He had decided, after some time, that they were a thing only Lucifer was capable of, and had left it that.

But then. Then had come Adam and Eve. Bringing them before the Tree of All Knowledge, Lucifer Challenged Man through Woman for the first time and Man succumbed, knowing his nakedness and the nakedness of Woman; of Eve and of himself. And God had thrown them from Heaven, and the Heavens had cried for God’s loss as they had cried at the loss of Lucifer.

Michael had spent the entirety of Adam’s first week out of the Garden, watching, invisible as Adam was no longer to know the Angels, and observed as this creature, so made in God’s own image, cried tears for the first time. He watched as Adam fell to his knees before the Gates of Eden and, screaming, begged to be forgiven. To be allowed before God’s Glory once more. 

And Michael knew, then, that Man was capable of sadness, made in the Image of God as he was. He had thought, in his ignorance, that Adam was leaking and, when he asked, the Lord had smiled, convinced him that nothing was wrong with Man–nothing more than could be expected when one was expelled from Heaven, anyway–and promised Michael that one day, if he tried, he too would Understand.

So in between rainstorms, he watched Adam and Eve. Watched tears of frustration fall from Adam’s eyes as he bent his back to the ground, hunched over an ugly and awkward machine so that he could tear up and destroy God’s Work, enabling new things to grow. He watched Eve cry with tears of pain as Cain and Abel came into the world–he doesn’t waste even God’s Infinite time by asking; he knows that he will never understand _that_ –and then watched, amazed as those tears become tears of thanks and joy and pride though the tears did not seem to have changed at all. Their structure was still nothing more than salt water. And yet their essence–

He watched tears of grief from both Adam and Eve falling, as they learned that brother had killed brother in Jealousy. Michael remembered being jealous, once, and cannot imagine causing a creature to cease to be simply from that. 

The fifty years of learning water came and went. Men moved upon the earth, conquering her and her creatures, discovering how to make the most of their curse, their dependency upon the ground and the fruit it bears. Time passes and passes and Men live, though they do not die. They live and they love, though Michael does not understand that either.

And when, finally, Adam dies, nine hundred and thirty short years after he was put upon the earth, the Heavenly Chorus sings him back to Heaven and God opens His arms once more and though there is much joy and elation, there are no tears. 

And still Michael does not Understand. He has come to understand Land, the Earth, Fruits and Vegetables and the Needs that drive Man. He understands Fish and Fowl and Beast and Burdens. He Understands Emotions; Love and Hate and Joy and Sorrow and Jealousy and Despair and Desperation and Thanks and though he understands these things, they are remote to him. He understands, and knows, but what he truly Knows and Understands are these: Awe, Amazement, Anticipation. Joy of Discovery and the poking finger of Curiosity. Satisfaction. 

But still. Tears. He does not Understand and it is causing a wave of new feelings within him. Anxiousness. Restlessness. Desire. He must Know. He _must_ Understand. But the only one who can explain him is nowhere that he can find. Or be. 

Of course, he has seen Lucifer since he left Heaven. Left Heaven. It is what all the Angels say, knowing that Lucifer did leave, and was not thrown, did not Fall as some of the sillier Cherubim believe, those who were no longer there. The older ones, Gavriel and Rafael and himself, they know. They know that God gave Lucifer Hell as a place for him to call his own, a place to go since Heaven could not bear to have him and his sacrifice. 

But they had watched, the three Archangels, the Seraphim and Cherubim and the rest of the Congregation as Lucifer’s white wings had turned grey with smoke, then inky black with heat. As his skin had darkened from white to brown. His hair, a testament to the Glory of God, curling about his shoulders, singed from fire so badly that Lucifer had finally shorn it, till it was no longer than a cap, a hat a Man might wear to protect himself from the heat of the Sun and it curled about his ears instead.

Lucifer had shed tears. Lucifer had–Michael searches for the word–cried. And Michael is going to find out how and why.

He leaves Heaven. It is not the first time; he has left Heaven before at God’s Word, at God’s Command to do God’s work. But now. Now he leaves of his own violation and it is–new words–Thrilling. Exciting. Terrifying. His way is uninterrupted by the others and he makes his way to earth, knowing that Lucifer can always be found there, tempting, trying, if one only knows where to look.

He finds the other angel with his arms crossed over a stern chest, watching as Judah gives in to Tamar and breaks faith with Holiness. Michael glides towards Lucifer, hidden in shadows–marvelous things, shadows are, the darkness; there are no shadows in Heaven–he hears the snort, the disgust. The shame. And then–

“Come out where I can see you,” Lucifer says, voice cross and dark and cold.

Without a thought, Michael moves from possibility to physicality, streaming into a physical existence beside Lucifer’s own body. 

“You don’t belong here,” Lucifer says with an angry clap of his wings, his eyes never moving from the pair of sinners.

“I had to come,” Michael says simply. The truth.

“If you’ve come to mock me,” Lucifer starts, finally turning his head to look at Michael. He stops speaking suddenly. “You.”

“Yes?”

“I know you. You’re the one who fell, at the–I caught you,” Lucifer says and then gives Michael a furious look before he turns resolutely away. “Go away.”

“But–”

Lucifer growls and takes off, flying and soaring and whirling away. Michael is stunned for a moment before he steps from ground to wind, his own wings stroking through the air, following the Lone One as they leave the pair to their sinning.

“Wait!” he calls, desperately beating his wings against the air, air that is so much heavier on earth than in Heaven. He can barely stay in flight. “Wait!”

Lucifer wheels around suddenly, without warning. “State your purpose and leave,” he says unkindly. “You don’t belong here.”

Michael cocks his head at Lucifer, at this anger. He’s never seen an Angel angry before. Righteous anger, on behalf of the Lord, yes, but never like this. Lucifer taps his foot impatiently against nothingness. 

“I don’t understand,” Michael tells him, shame filling him, overwhelming him completely at this admission. 

“Don’t understand what?” Lucifer asks, and Michael hears that sound in his voice, the way Men talk–sarcasm. “Why you can’t be here? Return to Heaven, Archangel, and leave me to my misery.”

He turns in the sky to go.

“No!” Michael exclaims, grabbing for the other’s arm, and pulling him back.

Lucifer whips back around, staring at the hand holding his arm and then meets Michael’s eye without a word, waiting.

“I don’t Understand,” Michael says again. 

“What don’t you Understand and what makes you think I can explain it to you?” Lucifer asks. And, though Michael can tell that Lucifer is measuring his words more carefully, a chill still goes down his spine and he releases Lucifer’s arm abruptly, suddenly recalling that he still holds it in his grasp. 

“Tears,” Michael says simply.

“Te–What?” 

“Tears,” Michael says again. “I don’t Understand tears. I’ve been trying, for nearly two thousand years now, since the Giving of the Names, and I don’t–I don’t Understand Tears.”

Lucifer stares at him. “Is this a joke?” he asks finally.

“A joke?” Michael echoes. He does not know the word or its meaning.

Lucifer considers him. “What is it that you don’t Understand? The cause? The emotion? What is there not to understand?”

“I can’t.”

“Can’t what?” Lucifer asks, short. 

“Can’t tear–cry,” Michael answers, correcting himself as he hangs his head to stare down at the ground, at the thousands of Men and Women below him who are Beings lesser than him yet can cry. Who, though separated from Heaven by far more than distance, can be so connected to Holiness through a simple drop of water.

But Lucifer bursts out laughing and Michael’s head snaps up to see Lucifer’s head thrown back, mouth wide open. “Silly Angel,” the Lone One finally says when he pauses in his laughter. “Of course you can’t cry.”

“But why?” Michael asks, desperate and confused. 

“Because you have no heart and no soul,” Lucifer answers.

Michael looks at him blankly. “No what?”

“A soul,” Lucifer repeats. “He didn’t give you one.”

“I don’t know this word,” Michael admits, scuffing his foot against a passing breeze. “Why didn’t I get one?”

“Because you are not a Man. You are an Angel. An Archangel. You just don’t get one.” He snorts. “You don’t even know what it is. Why would you want one?”

Michael shrugs. “Why not? Why would I not want something the Lord provided to others?”

“Because it isn’t meant for you,” Lucifer answers, though his eyes shift to the side at Michael’s words. “It isn’t necessary for your Purpose.”

“How do you know?”

“Because, for one thing, you don’t have one,” Lucifer says, sounding as though he is chiding one of the Nefilim. “Had you needed one, He would have given it to you. And for another,” he continues after a pause, “I do.”

Michael’s head snaps up. “You do? Why?”

Lucifer gives Michael a barely patient look. “How am I to tempt the sons and daughters of Adam and Eve if I do not know why they are so tempted? It is necessary for me to Know. To Understand.

“But you can explain it to me,” Michael says eagerly.

Lucifer shakes his head. “No. You cannot explain a soul to one who doesn’t have one.”

“Please,” Michael begs, in earnest. “I have to Understand. It is...driving me mad, for the last thousand years, not knowing. I must know.”

Lucifer looks at him, derisive. “You can’t. You’ll never understand.”

“Try. Please.”

Lucifer sighs, heavy, stirring the branches of the tree they are floating over and then, suddenly, points down at it. “Tell me, when you look at the tree, what do you see?”

Michael considers it. “A tree,” he says finally, unable to grasp what it is he was meant to see and didn’t.

“And?”

“And...birds. And leaves and branches and growth and a home for the smaller creatures and the natural course of things.”

“And?”

“And...nothing. What–”

“And when you look at the ground? The earth?” Lucifer interrupts.

“Fruits. Vegetables. Home and Haven. The place of man and mammal.”

“And the oceans?”

“Vastness. The reflection of God. A home to the fish and the sharks and the coral reefs and–”

“The sky?”

“The Seat of Heaven. And the Stars and the Sun and the Moon and the planets,” Michael says, beginning to feel a trace of...what is the word men would use? Annoyance. He feels annoyed. “What is it that you–”

“When Men look,” Lucifer says, sweeping his arms out to encompass everything in their view, to encompass Creation. “When a Man looks upon those things, he is Awed. He feels a stirring, _here_ ,” he says, touching with his hand the part of his chest beneath which a heart would beat were he a mortal man. “This stirring in his heard, in his soul, is what connects him to the Lord.” But you,” he continues, and his voice is darker now, angrier, “feel a connection to the Lord whether you are with him or not. Man feels a connection to God when he looks upon His work. The testament to His Glory. You merely see facts. It means nothing to you what the mountains look like, the glens, the rivers and the oceans. The beauty in Creation–that is what eludes you. That is why you cannot understand tears.”

“I don’t–”

“Understand?” Lucifer finishes with a nod. “But of course you don’t. Tears are a creation of the heart, the soul. When a being is moved, for good or evil, by beauty or despair, they cry. You cannot cry over something that does not move you.”

Michael stops short and, after a moment, Lucifer stops as well, turning to face him once more.

“Why did God not give us this, the ability to see the beauty in His work instead of merely the perfection?”

“Because it is not necessary to your Purpose,” Lucifer answers. Repeats.

Michael is silent for a moment, thinking. “If,” he begins hesitantly. “If it necessary for you to know the side of temptation, to know the ability to choose between right and wrong so that you may test Men in the ways of sin, then–” he hesitates, trying to make sense of what he thinks before he speaks it. “Then would it not be necessary for me, for all the other angels, to know it as well? So that they may have the equal chance of us leading them away from sin and to God and Goodness?”

Lucifer considers him for a long moment. “Possibly,” he says finally.

Michael feels a sense of satisfaction fill him. 

“Except–” Lucifer says. “Except that you need to convince the Lord that you require a soul in your Purpose and He, in His Mercy, would need to see the virtue in it. Besides,” he continues, his black wings beating lazily against the wind, “there is nothing to say that you would not Fall.”

“I–” Michael begins, before falling silent. Lucifer is right. “Is that what happened to the Nefilim?” he asks. “Did they receive souls as well, and Fall prey to temptation?”

Lucifer laughs. “No, they did not. They simply saw that Men, upon the earth, were allowed pleasures that they were not, pleasures that have no comparison to that of a life in Heaven,” he adds, a shadow of bitterness in his voice. “So they sought those pleasures out, and found, with no soul, no enjoyment in them. But they went against their Nature in doing so, and God would not have them then. He did not offer them souls.”

“If–if,” Michael says, hardly daring to speak the words on his mind, “if I should so ask of the Lord, and He were to grant me a soul, would you...would you teach me?”

“Teach you?” Lucifer echoes. “Teach you what?”

“Teach me temptation. If I am to have a soul, I wish to have one and know that I conquered tempta–” he snaps his mouth shut, realizing too late what he has implied, if not outright said. 

“Temptation,” Lucifer finishes for him, mouth set in a hard line. “Conquered temptation and...me.”

“Lucifer, I did not–”

“You did,” Lucifer cuts him off. “And no less, it is true. Fine,” he says, his voice angry, a growl. “If the Lord gives you a soul, I will tempt you and we shall see who will be the victor. Do not search for me if it is granted to you,” he warns. “You need not doubt that I will find you.”

And then, without another word, he strikes out through the air, black wings pumping and is gone, leaving Michael alone.

*****

He comes before the Lord, years later, when he has mustered up the courage to ask, to beg and plead. His wings tucked back in humble servitude, his head is hung in Reverence as he steps forward before the Seat of Heaven.

_So you have come_ , the Lord says, His voice booming through Heaven and Michael feels all the other angels stop to turn and look.

Michael nods.

_It has taken you long, Michael. Why_?

“I wanted to be sure, Lord,” he answers. “I wanted to be sure it was a just request and that...and that I might be strong enough to survive the test.”

_It is a hard thing_ , the Lord says. _It is a hard thing to live with a soul._

“So I am told, Lord. So I have observed.”

_And yet you wish one_ , the Lord states. _Yet you wish to take this hardship and loneliness upon yourself_.

Michael says nothing.

_Why_?

“I must Know,” Michael says simply. And then, finds it coming rushing out of him, just as he told it to Lucifer, the belief that he cannot suitably serve if he does not Know, if he has not experienced, if he does not Understand the Temptation and the Fall. 

_It is Just_ , the Lord says finally, when he is done. _But I do not wish you to fail. What shall be done if you do_?

Michael looks up at the Lord in horror. “I should kill myself, Lord, if I should so fail. I should not wish to live with the shame.”

_And yet...is it not My Will that it is an evil thing to kill_? the Lord inquires gently.

Michael stares at the Lord, unblinking for a long moment and then, very slowly says, “If I were to Fall, Lord, I should do my best to return to the path of righteousness and never fall to Sin again.”

The Lord seems pleased with this response. _It means your removal from Heaven_ , the Lord explains. _You would not be able to look upon Me and live, were you to have a soul_.

Michael nods. He understands this, understands as well why Adam had to have been thrown from the Garden after eating from the Tree. Were he to have remained in Heaven, Knowing...it would have killed him. And it will kill Michael as well.

_You are ready_ , the Lord says.

Michael nods, lowering his head to bended knee and then–then he can longer remember.

*****

When he can remember, once more, he is not where he once was. He is on Earth, alone, his robes torn, his wings filthy, mud swiped across his cheek and in his hair. He feels tired and hungry and afraid and–

He blinks, looks around the world, assesses the state of himself and promptly begins to scream.


	3. Part Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which most things stay the same, but one very important thing changes.

Lucifer comes across Michael years later, wandering in the desert, crazed, wings weighted heavy with sand and sweat. Feathers are missing from his wings, and it seems most likely Michael was attacked by some of the larger animals or the vultures as he slept. His skin is dirty, his blonde hair matted and his feet are blistered and bleeding.

It is the saddest thing Lucifer has ever seen in his existence, and he alights behind Michael soundlessly, carefully, before whispering the angel’s name.

Michael whirls around with a strangled sound of insanity, hands held up in front of himself, in defense.

“Angel,” Lucifer says quietly, carefully, holding his place and his peace as he observes the madness within Michael's eyes. 

Michael shakes his head, eyes closing, hands over his ears as he moans. “No. No. No, no, no, no.” 

Lucifer takes a hesitant step forward. There is a part of him, attuned to every soul in existence, that knows Michael is near enough to the edge of sanity to be tempted. The ones who have no reason, no logic, cannot be coerced or convinced. Tempted. This part of him tells him that Michael is ready. Lucifer had not been able to find Michael before this moment, though he knew that the other was on earth and with a soul to be tempted. But his own soul–his own soul bleeds with compassion and pity.

“Angel,” he says again, placing gentle hands on Michael’s wrists, drawing the calloused and dirty hands away from the other’s ears. 

Michael meets his gaze, eyes wild and crazed. “I didn’t know,” he says, his voice desperate. “I didn’t know what I was doing. What I was asking.” 

“Silly Angel,” Lucifer says, his voice almost fond, tender as he gently guides the tense and stiff arms down. “I did warn you.” 

Michael laughs, bitter and cruel. “Hardly.”

Lucifer shrugs, releasing the other’s hands. “You could not have understood any better than you did without the soul.” 

Michael shakes his head as he wraps his arms around himself as if for protection, though for protection against what Lucifer knows not what from.

“Angel?” Lucifer says once more, his voice low. And then, quieter still, “Michael?”

Michael looks up at him, sharply, eyes wary and filled with distrust. Fear and anger. Despair. And then he breaks into sudden tears, great, sobbing, racking tears that make his entire body shake as he doubles over, feathers rustling with the movement. And then he laughs, hysterical. “I’m crying,” he says as Lucifer wraps his arms around him without another word, pulling him close. “I’m crying,” he says again, laughs out.

But he sounds as though choking on the words before he bursts into tears again and Lucifer pushes off the ground, wings pulsing in the air.

*****

Lucifer takes Michael to Hell, the only Angel to have ever visited in the thousands of human years since it was given to him. It is his home, his haven, his...Heaven until his task is done and he can return to be with the others and he is defensive of it, wary and protective of Michael’s presence there though Michael is hardly aware enough to care.

He teaches him then, by example, of souls and how to live with one. He draws him slowly out of the madness, closer and closer to sanity. He takes him on a tour of Hell, to see the lost souls that reside there and the reasons why. He shows him those who betrayed the Seven Commandments of the Sons of Noah; those who are not of the Chosen Nation and People but have still sinned by God. Those who stole, coveted, did acts so sinful they fill Lucifer with disgust. He shows Michael the temptation in these sins, what could cause a person, a heart, a soul to want to do these things and though Michael nods his head, though Lucifer can see the Understanding in Michael’s eyes, can sense it in his soul, he does not Fall. He does not even Stumble.

They step into a routine as the days turn into weeks and those in turn become months and years. Lucifer introduces Michael to the pleasures of sleep in a true bed, though neither requires it, to teach him Sloth. They eat, and though Michael politely tastes every morsel that Lucifer offers, he is no Glutton. So Lucifer goads him, trying to make him fall prey to Wrath but it has no effect. Lucifer gives him things, presents and gifts before he takes them away, hoping he will feel a spark of overprotectiveness that might be labeled Greed, but it does not come. He encourages him to build, create, invent, something for him to take Pride in, but Michael merely smiles and says it is not a thing for angels to do, and does nothing. Lucifer ignores him then, lavishing his attentions on the other lost souls of Hell, the mortals who have found their way there and expecting Envy, finds his inattention returned with...indulgence. It is nearly as though Michael is playing Lucifer’s game and playing it far better.

It is infuriating. 

He has never yet had such trouble calling one to temptation. Some of the humans, yes, are this difficult, but they are usually marked as one of God’s Chosen among the Chosen and Lucifer knows, at a certain point, to just stop bothering. But even with them, there is a resonance, a resounding twang for what their vice is, their secret sin, no matter how they might hide it, ignore it and bury it. With Michael there is–nothing.

He simply smiles that soft smile, as though aware of how hard Lucifer is trying to get something out of him and is unable to see what Lucifer’s difficulty is in getting it. 

Sometimes Lucifer would like to take the smile on Michael’s face and– 

Lust.

It comes to him, sudden, and he approaches the final sin as an artist might. Careful, calculating, sure that he knows what it is he will do before he begins to exercise his craft. He has a plan mapped out on a mental canvas, the words, the manners exactly as they should be. Lust can be the easiest of thoughts to manipulate and create, or the hardest. He knows that there are men whose minds fill with lust at the sight of a woman–any woman. They are no test, no loss to Holiness. But the ones who have particulars...those are a pleasure to lead to sin, if ‘pleasure’ it can be called.

And Lucifer dives into this with a passion. He removes Michael back to earth for proper temptation. There may be whores of Babylon aplenty in Hell, but they are merely souls and remnants of themselves where Michael and Lucifer have the possibility of both flesh and physicality. The real thing is ever so much more fun to work with. 

They visit the bathhouses of the Middle East, of Israel and Turkey and Egypt. The whorehouses of the cold Northern continents and the wetness of the marshes in the west of the known world. They travel to continents yet unknown to the Eastern World, oceans and languages separating them, looks and mannerisms. But there is nothing from Michael. Not in any of the places that will become India or Asia or China or Spain. No stirring of any emotion in the savage lands across the oceans. Absolutely nothing. No mortal woman–or man–appeals to him in any way. 

And, after a century of trying to tempt him with Lust, Lucifer gives up. They return, together, to Hell and Lucifer’s domain and though Lucifer tries to ignore it, he knows that he is relieved. He does not want a Fallen Angel, particularly this one. And, what’s more, he simply doesn’t want this angel to Fall.

*****

They are sitting together, each in their own silences, when Michael breaks it suddenly, raising his head from the _Sefer_ he is learning, and looks up at Lucifer.

“Is that it, then?” he asks without warning. 

“Is what it?” Lucifer asks, startled.

“Is that all the temptation? Is that all the enticement and captivation you can offer me?”

Lucifer stares at Michael with widening eyes. “Why?”

Michael gently closes the book, placing it on the arm of his chair. “If it is, I would return to Heaven. Not a Fallen Angel, but one who has Risen.” 

Lucifer feels a desperation well up within him. Michael cannot be leaving. Michael cannot _want_ to leave. But Lucifer cannot lie. “I suppose,” he says helplessly while his own soul does battle with his intellect. Michael will leave and he will be alone again in Hell with no company or companion. No angel to share the eternity of damnation with, even if it belongs truly only to him. There will be no more pretending. Michael will take away the illusion of acceptance from him if he leaves. When he leaves. 

Michael rises, shaking his wings of the soot as he extends them behind himself. Lucifer watches, horrified, as Michael’s wings rise, begin their descent that will provide the updraft for him to rise and–

“Michael!” he exclaims, nearly exploding from his own seat as he reaches out for the angel and the pureness within him. 

“Yes?” Michael asks, eyeing the hand on his wrist.

“Must you?” Lucifer begs, his eyes searching Michael’s out. 

“Must I?” Michael asks, confusion in his voice. “I want to. Should I not?”

Lucifer does not trust his voice. He cannot be left alone in Hell again, not after all these years in which he’s had someone at his side. He cannot bear the thought of it and can just manage to shake his head.

Michael’s wings fall slowly to rest behind him once more. “Why?”

Lucifer relaxes his grip on Michael’s hand, his own dark skin startling against the whiteness of the angel’s. “I need you to stay.”

“But you’ve been unable to tempt me,” Michael says, the uncertainty filling his voice. “It’s been hundreds of years. Moses was not yet born when you started and David sits yet upon the throne of Israel. Have I not passed? Have I not proven myself?”

“No,” Lucifer says, still desperate. “No,” he says again, and the words tumble from his tongue. “You cannot pass a test that was no test for you. It is nothing to say you did not succumb when the sin did not tempt you in the first place.”

Michael considers him. “Oh,” he says simply. 

And then, suddenly, like a flash of lightening or an epiphany, it is there, and Lucifer wants to cry and laugh with the cruelty of it. Temptation revealed. He knows that he should begin this very instant, start what he knows to be inevitable. Instead, he releases Michael’s hand and they both return to their seats, both resume the books they were in middle of consuming, and take up the routine once more.

*****

A week is not out before Lucifer begins the temptation in subtle earnestness. A week of trying to reconcile this knowledge with himself. A week of deep prayer, trying to come to the Belief that this is truly what God had Intended. When he does decide to act, he still doesn’t know if he does so because that is his Purpose or his own deeper desires.

But act he must, for one reason or the other. And so he does not scorn Michael, but instead spends every conceivable moment with the angel. He does not offer endless food, but rare delicacies, limited in their amount. He crafts gifts unseen to the earth, or the Worlds Below and Above it for the angel, and does not take them back. He includes Michael in all his ventures and endeavors, rewarded with selfless pride on his behalf. He goes out among the Nephilim and when they mock him, he can feel the anger radiating off Michael, the fierce need to protect and again he wants to laugh and cry and beg for God’s Mercy in this test. 

He carries on with this for weeks, lavishing his attention and care on the angel, indulging every wish and whim without ever suggesting a sin. They eat together, talk together, explore the world together. Discuss the advances of mankind together. They spend hours learning the Holy Books together in solitude, their voices rising in argument, eyes falling with the heaviness of sleep when three days have passed and still they have not rested themselves. They fall asleep, together, on Lucifer’s bed in the pits of Hell. 

Lucifer does not touch him. 

They carry on in this manner, reading and arguing for days on end before sleep claims them, steals them from one another. Years have passed since Lucifer understood, knew what the Fall of the angel would be and still, he does nothing that might be considered tempting in any manner. Soon it becomes natural for Michael to sleep in Lucifer’s bed, even on nights when they have not spent the previous week in endless discussion, endless speculation as to when Mankind will finally Understand. 

There is, after all, something about the warmth of another body that does nothing to compare with the heat of Hell.

It is nearly a full decade after they’ve started this before, waking up with the dawn, Lucifer looks down at Michael’s face, glowing with peace in sleep, and cannot help but to place a kiss on the angel’s lips. He nearly cries with it, though Michael does not return it, does not even wake and he falls back into a fitful sleep before Michael wakes him so that they may go explore the Indies together. 

It becomes ritual for Lucifer, waking at dawn to kiss the angel’s unknowing lips. He watches for a reaction, for any hint of Michael’s knowing. Days turn into weeks, weeks into months of waiting for an effect to be born. And one day, when Michael touches his fingers absently to his own lips, as though in confusion, as though to remember something that escapes him, Lucifer knows it has begun. Michael still does not know, not in waking, but now when Lucifer kisses him in the morning, he moves against it, into it. Seeking and searching as he presses his lips for contact. Lucifer pulls away every time. The Fall must be conscious, awake and aware. He can do no more than start it; Michael must be the one to continue and end it.

The thought terrifies and thrills him.

*****

Solomon sits upon the throne of Israel and there is a shrew Queen on the seat of Sheba. Men grow cunning with wisdom and with knowledge, devious and conniving. Tempting them becomes a manner of no consequence; their minds and souls fall to it easily, without thought and Lucifer sees it as no great test of himself or mankind. There is no skill required in this, no soft and sneaking insinuations into their hearts. They fall, but none are so high to begin with that their fall might even be counted a bump. 

But still he has the Temptation of Michael before him, beside him, ever a part of him and he knows the time is drawing nearer.

*****

They are lying in the bed together, simply content to be, Michael’s head upon Lucifer’s chest.

It surprised him at first, when Michael first came out of his madness those many years ago and finally, truly learned how to live and exist with his soul. Lucifer is well aware that there are those of Man who become angry with their humanity, others cruel or uncaring of the goodness they are capable of within. Michael did not rage against Heaven, or seek to cause pain. He simply became...affectionate. Lucifer been confused the first time the angel had touched him, no ulterior motive in sight, until he’d come to realize how much it amazed Michael himself. The angels have no need for touch, no need if there is no sensation or emotion behind it and Michael is captivated by emotion, even as he was before he received his soul. He finds it a curious thing, has admitted as much to Lucifer, finds it amazing that simply touching another living thing can make him feel like _this_ or like _that_.

In the hundreds of years that they have been in Hell together, Michael has never stopped touching or wanting to be touched. To _feel_. And now–

“Lucifer?” Michael asks, lifting his head to look through golden curls at the Lord of Hell. 

Lucifer makes an absent noise to acknowledge that he’s heard his name spoken. 

Michael turns over onto his stomach, hands linked under his chin. “Lucifer,” he says again, his voice a bit louder.

“Hmm?” Lucifer murmurs, his mind elsewhere, though he could not tell you precisely where if you asked him. 

“Lucifer. _Look_ at me.”

Lucifer blinks, once, twice, is caught by Michael’s startling blue eyes. He forces himself to blink once more. “What is it?” 

Michael looks at him in silence for a moment. 

“Well?”

“You’ve been kissing me,” Michael says then without preamble. “In the morning. While I sleep.”

Lucifer feels himself pause. He cannot lie, but neither can he admit the truth and so he says nothing. 

“You have, haven’t you?” Michael says when he does not react, when he makes no move. “I haven’t been imagining it?”

Lucifer shakes his head. No. He hasn’t.

Michael looks down at his hands, breaking their eyes apart for a moment before he looks up again. “I think–I think I would like to kiss you myself,” he says finally, his voice calm and sure, his gaze unwavering. 

Lucifer almost laughs with the absurdity of it. Almost laughs because otherwise he would cry. The angel has no idea–

“But,” Michael continues, and his voice takes on the tone it always does when he is approached by something he does not know, something he does not understand no matter how he strives. It is the same voice, the same tone as when he first asked about tears. “I’m not quite sure how to.” 

Lucifer takes as deep a breath as he can manage with the other all but lying on top of him. Surely the angel can’t expect to be taught how? “It’s really rather simple,” he finally manages. “Rather straightforward business. You just–” 

Michael cocks his head as he cuts him off. “No. There must be more.”

“Trust me,” Lucifer says with a laugh that barely makes it from his throat. 

Michael considers him for a moment longer. “Alright,” he says simply and then leans up and kisses him. 

Lucifer does nothing but lay there, hands at his side; nothing but to allow this gentle exploration of his mouth. Michael’s lips are cool and soft against his own, tender and loving and if Lucifer wanted to cry the first time he kissed the sleeping mouth, he wants to weep now. Weep as he tries to decide if he should be celebrating a loss or mourning a victory. 

Michael draws away eventually, ever so slowly and still Lucifer does nothing but wait for his reaction. 

“That is kissing?” he asks.

“Part of it,” Lucifer answers. 

“Part?”

Lucifer nods. 

“I thought you said it was straightforward,” Michael says, his voice accusing now that he has found Lucifer in his lie, almost hurt that Lucifer has kept something from him. 

“It is,” Lucifer says quickly, though his mind is trying to reconcile the knowledge that Michael must have felt something to think it was anything other than straightforward. “But there are so many ways of doing it. So many different parts to...kiss,” he trails off. 

Michael merely looks at him. 

“If I–?” Lucifer asks then, knowing he needs not just the invitation to tempt but the permission as well.

Michael nods, and Lucifer spends just a moment in begging God to forgive him before he puts his hands on either side of Michael’s face to pull him closer, deeper. Lucifer presses his lips against the angel’s–a small taste of Heaven–his thumbs stroking Michael’s cheeks before combing through his hair. 

It is longer before they pull apart this time and there is a lovely flush in Michael’s cheeks this time, a delicious blush as Lucifer releases him. 

“That was different,” the angel finally says and Lucifer nods. “How many other ways are there?”

“Hundreds,” Lucifer says without thinking, unable to take his eyes off of Michael’s lips, lips that now know those that have been kissing them all this time. 

Michael starts, sitting up sharply, moving off and away, a look not far from fear in his now wide eyes. “Hundreds?”

“Hundreds,” Lucifer repeats, no longer caring. He has the right, the permission. “This is one,” he says, sitting up and leaning forward to press a kiss to Michael’s cheek. “And so is this,” a kiss to his neck. “And this and this and this–” a kiss to his shoulder, to the juncture of his neck and shoulder, to his collarbone. 

Michael shivers. “That one,” he says. “Do that one again.” 

And Lucifer does, placing kiss after kiss in a neat little row from one end of his collarbone to the other, fingers inching beneath the collar of Michael’s robes to smooth out over broad shoulders, back up his neck before dipping low to caress the soft downy feathers of Michael’s wings as clothing and coverings become immaterial. 

Michael’s head drops against Lucifer’s shoulder and Lucifer does not imagine that the other is trembling, however slightly. He fights to keep his hands at his sides, knowing that if he moves too quickly, he will frighten the angel. After a careful moment, his fingers fluttering, Lucifer runs a gentle finger slowly down Michael’s spine, just between his wings.

“Michael,” he says quietly, his hands falling lower.

The angel lifts his head from Lucifers’s shoulder, eyes filled with so many kinds of anticipation. “Lucifer–I don’t–”

“Understand?” Lucifer says with a laugh, and Michael releases a reluctant blushing grin at this. “Tell me.”

“I feel–strange,” Michael says.

“Strange?” Lucifer echoes, fingers rounding back to skim across Michael’s chest, a shadow of promise. “How?”

“Like I am not myself.”

Lucifer makes a non-commital noise, fingers still exploring, charting and mapping territories only just discovered.

“When you–when you do that,” Michael stammers as Lucifer touches his face. “I feel–tight.”

Lucifer pauses. “Tight?”

Michael nods. Nervously.

“Where?”

Michael shows him.

“Hmm,” Lucifer says, nodding. “I see.”

“Why?”

“Why?” Lucifer echoes, bearing him backwards. “I haven’t the foggiest idea. Never understood the point of them myself, as far as males are concerned. However, one must wonder....If that happens when I touch your face–”

He stops speaking, his tongue darting out to lave over the thoroughly pointless male nipple.

Well. _Perhaps not_ thoroughly _pointless_ , Lucifer amends as Michael makes a noise that he has been waiting decades, centuries, to hear.

“Interesting,” he says as he stretches fully over Michael, shaking his wings out. “I wonder if the other one–”

It does.

“You’re going to pull my hair out,” Lucifer says calmly, looking up at him as best as he can, considering.

Michael nods, but his eyes stay wide open and his hands don’t loosen their grip.

“Michael.”

“You put your–”

“Tongue,” Lucifer offers.

“And your–”

“Teeth–”

“On my–” he flounders

“Nipple.”

“And I–”

“Have your fingers wound very tightly in my hair. Please relax, Michael.”

“Will you do it again if I do?”

“Do you want me to?”

There is a very short pause, followed by a nearly imperceptible nod before the tension goes out of Michael. And though his heart is torn in two, knowing the Temptation is complete and the Fall begun, Lucifer cannot stop himself from releasing a smile against the skin beneath his lips, kissing a path up over Michael’s breastbone, back to the column of his neck and his face. Michael is moving anxiously beneath him by the time their lips meet again.

There is heat now, woven into the kiss as they touch, and Lucifer feeds this to Michael as their chests press against each other, the sharp angles of Lucifer’s hips pressing against Michael’s and when he feels the delicious tension in the body beneath him, the sharp thrust upward for contact, he wants to sing a Hallelujah. Lucifer’s hands move of their own accord now, completely unthinking, and he angles against Michael, pressing him into the mattress without thought as he himself wants and wants and _wants_ and–

“Ow,” Michael says, breaking away with a gasp of pain. “Ow.”

“Ow?” Lucifer echoes, stunned, fighting for his own breath. 

“Ow ‘you’re crushing my wings’ ow,” Michael explains and though Lucifer swears an apology, Michael all but shoves him off so that he can sit up, twisting his head this way and that to inspect what damage may have been done. 

“You’ll strain your neck,” Lucifer chides with an impatient shake of his head. “Let me see.” 

Obligingly–always so obliging–Michael shifts so that Lucifer may move behind him. “It’s nothing,” Lucifer says softly, his inspection complete, smoothing the ruffled feathers down. He massages the spot on Michael’s back where his wings emerge, easing the sore muscle. “Better now?”

Michael ducks his head in answer. “Yes. Thank you. I’m sorry.”

“Sorry?” Lucifer repeats, his fingers playing absently in the whiteness of Michael’s wings. It’s been a millennium or more since his own turned black and the paleness of Michael captivates him. “Whatever for?”

“For stopping.”

Smiling, Lucifer peers around Michael’s shoulder. “There’s nothing wrong with stopping,” he says quietly. “Just so long as we start again.”

Michael smiles, blushes really, and Lucifer–ever so carefully–wraps his arms around the angel, caressing soft skin as he leaves a trail of kisses over Michael’s body. His hands drift further and further southward by the moment until there is nowhere further for him to go and Michael freezes within the circle of his arms. 

“What are you doing?” he asks, his voice strangled.

“Touching you,” Lucifer says softly. He slides his hand gently upwards, barely touching, watching Michael’s face for every reaction. Michael who is watching his hand moving up and down and round and–

“It’s never–done that–before–” Michael stammers.

“No. I don’t expect it has,” Lucifer murmurs in reply. Michael jerks as Lucifer brings his other hand around, running down the length of Michael’s thigh before moving upwards once again. The angel’s head falls back against Lucifer’s shoulder, eyes closed as his chest rises and falls, panting out each rushed breath without any other sound. His wings, folded closed, flutter against Lucifer’s bare skin, teasing painfully, nearly as painfully as Lucifer is teasing Michael. 

“Luc–” Michael starts, trembling.

Lucifer hushes him with meaningless sounds.

“Lucifer,” Michael says again, biting the word out. 

“Yes?”

“I feel–”

“Yes?” Lucifer asks again.

But Michael does not answer. His hands are scrabbling at the sheets, his legs desperately seeking purchase as he twists from side to side in frantic desperation. Lucifer can feel the pounding of Michael’s heart as the angel’s breathing becomes louder, shallower, faster. There is Divine heat between his hands and it is near to divinity that he plays with as his fingers quicken the pace. Another thrust and then another. Three times, four times, five; a twist of his wrist, just so and–

Michael lets loose a yell that is sure to reach Heaven, takes the Lord’s name in vain at least twice, and swears a time or two or three as well as when he finally shudders with release. He all but collapses against Lucifer and Lucifer bears his weight with pleasure, unable to take his eyes off Michael’s face and the expression on it. It is not far from the expression Lucifer remembers to have been on his face at the Naming, in the presence of God. 

His hands circle Michael’s waist as he waits for him to call his breath back to himself, fingers absently stroking over the angel’s ribs and he remembers–The first sin. God created Eve from Adam’s rib and it was he, Lucifer, who guided woman into bringing sin into the world. 

And now he’s brought sin into Heaven.


	4. Part Four

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which there is an awful lot of fighting.

Utterly limp and languid, Michael can but just feel the force of Lucifer's heart beating against his back. All but mindless, he thumbs a circle around and around Lucifer's knee, watching the muscle twitch beneath the pad of his finger. His own chest is heaving, rising and falling erratically, as though he's just flown from Hell to Heaven and back again. He takes a breath, finds that it is not deep enough, and fills his lungs with air again, gasping for air. He fights to bring his breath back into himself, that part of him that is a part of God even as it is a part of his own self. He closes his eyes, seeking calm, but can still see galaxies exploding in the darkness. He drops his head back, resting against the curve of Lucifer's shoulder and breathing in the mingled scents of sweat and sex. 

He feels a mad storm of emotions within himself, tongue-tied in what he imagines to be the most miraculous way possible. There are so many things that he wishes to share with Lucifer right now: the joy of new discovery (who knew that his body could react in such a way to another's touch?), the way of the feel of Lucifer's fingers so absently bumping over each of his ribs causes him even now to shiver. Even his skin feels new, sensitive to the slightest hint of breath or movement. 

Still trembling himself, it is only for that reason that he does not notice Lucifer is shaking as well until a few more moments have passed.

“Lucifer,” he says when he has the breath to speak. “Lucifer? What is wrong?”

And there is now no question that Lucifer is shaking, trembling, his chest pressed against Michael’s back and wings. The pressure almost too much to bear, but because it is Lucifer, Michael does not mind; does not mind as he does not mind the hands around his waist, holding him ever tighter and closer. 

“I’m sorry,” Lucifer says, voice choked. “Oh God in Heaven, I’m so sorry.” 

“Sorry?” Michael repeats, finally opening his eyes to see that Lucifer’s are bright, wet with unshed tears above him. “What for?” 

“For this,” Lucifer answers. “I didn’t want to do this.” 

“You–you didn’t want to do this?” Michael asks, and an emotion he’s never felt before is rushing, sweeping through him, sitting in his chest directly beneath Lucifer’s hands. A sadness so overwhelming and so consuming that it is all he can do not to wail. “You didn’t want to?”

Lucifer lets out a laugh that contains no humor as he shakes his head. “No–Michael–Of course I wanted to do this.” 

“So–?” Michael asks, and he leaves the rest of the question unasked, unspoken, as his heart flutters and stutters between his ribs, beneath Lucifer’s touch.

“I didn’t want to do this with you.”

The feeling in Michael’s chest intensifies and his heart nearly explodes even as it stops altogether. Michael wills it, forces it, commands it to begin its beat again if only for the fact that he might have misunderstood. “I don’t–Lucifer, I don’t understand,” he says, begs, pleads, knowing he’s said those words so many times now they are a joke, but yet–yet he truly does not understand. “You wanted to do this with someone _else_?”

Lucifer’s head falls to rest upon Michael’s own shoulder. “No,” he whispers, his voice urgent, nearly angry. “Never with anyone else.”

“Then why–” Michael begins, desperate with confusion.

“I didn’t want you to Fall,” Lucifer explains, and there is such utter helplessness in his words, his voice, in the shape of his body against Michael’s, that Michael wants to pull him closer. Wants to draw him nearer than he already is, wrap his arms around the other and somehow convince him that everything will be all right, everything will be as it should be. Somehow, this does not strike him as the right thing to do and so he holds his silence. 

“I didn’t want you to Fall,” Lucifer repeats, his voice a low and anxious whisper, betrayed only by the hint of breath that caresses Michael’s skin. 

And then there is wetness as Lucifer shudders, great big tears falling from his eyes to skate down Michael’s shoulder. Sliding over Michael’s chest and over his sides before he turns, quickly as he can, to pull Lucifer into himself and wrap them both in the safety of his wings. His arms circle around Lucifer, around shaking shoulders, as he begs Lucifer to stop his tears.

“It’s my fault,” Lucifer chokes out, his mouth hot against the skin of Michael’s shoulder as he holds him close, his grip tight. “I didn’t–I couldn’t–” He pauses, his entire body tensing and freezing. “I made us both Fall.”

“You didn’t,” Michael argues in a near panic. “You did not make us both Fall.” 

“I did,” Lucifer says, shaking his head. “I did. I wanted to do this–this sin that is an abomination unto God. Two men, lying with one another–”

“We are _not_ men,” Michael says desperately. “Did God ever say that such a thing would be a sin for us, angels? Did He?” 

“Why would He have to?” Lucifer asks, lifting his head and drawing away to look at Michael with tear-filled eyes. “It is not the common angel who would feel desire for such a thing in the first place–feel desire at all. Only...you. And now you’ve Fallen.” 

Michael shakes his head, reaching for Lucifer’s hand to offer some solace and comfort, but Lucifer pulls it away and into his lap and pain stabs through Michael’s heart and he loses his voice. 

“I–I shouldn’t have done this,” Lucifer says, eyes searching and scanning the room blindly for something that Michael cannot imagine. “I’m sorry, Michael.”

“No,” Michael says in all earnestness. “No. Do not be sorry, Lucifer. I do not regret it, why should you?”

“Because. Because if it wasn’t for me–”

“If it wasn’t for you I would be as mindless as Gavriel or Uriel or Raphael,” Michael interrupts in an almost mindless panic. “I would not know the true joy of discovery and understanding. I would not truly appreciate the beauty of God’s world and creation. I would not know why Man does the things that he does. I would not understand sin and repentance and piousness and righteousness. I would not feel pride in my accomplishments or enjoy the fruits of God’s earth. I would not understand the human, no, the _living_ need for friendship and companionship,” Michael continues slowly, reaching for Lucifer’s hand again. “Or love.” 

Lucifer stares at Michael’s hand, holding his own, and Michael waits for a word, a sound, anything.

“Love?” Lucifer repeats, staring at their hands, intertwined, for a moment longer before he glances up into Michael’s eyes once more.

“Love,” Michael affirms. 

Something passes swiftly over Lucifer’s eyes, a hint of some emotion or reaction, but it is gone the next moment, fleeting, and Lucifer is shaking his head.

“No. No–it doesn’t matter. It doesn’t make it right. It was still wrong and it will always be wrong. There is no way to justify what we’ve–”

“Lucifer,” Michael says quietly, his voice low and soft, hiding sheer desperation. “Lucifer–why don’t we _ask_?”

The question hangs between them, almost tangible in the seemingly expansive space between them and then Lucifer breathes, “Ask?”

“Ask,” Michael repeats, his voice gentle. “The Lord would not have allowed us to continue in this manner if He did not approve in some way. Surely He will have an answer for us. He will tell us if we are to be Banished from His Glory and Grace till Kingdom Come or–” he says quickly, as a look of horror covers Lucifer’s face. “Or if He will take us into His arms as He always has. Knowing as only He can know that there was no crime or sin in our actions.”

There is indecision in Lucifer’s shoulders, in the line from his neck to his spine, shaking through his wings as he says, “But what if–”

“What if what? If He sends us from Heaven?” Michael asks, and Lucifer darts a tiny, panicked nod. “Then we will have both Fallen. And, having Fallen, still have each other,” Michael says softly.

“Michael,” Lucifer says, and there is such anguish in his voice that Michael is quite at a loss of what to do with himself. “Michael–you don’t understand. All these years–all this time–I have only been doing my duty; watching the souls of the damned until I could return to Heaven. The thought of my return is what has been keeping me sane. And now–now–Oh God,” he says, shaking his head even as he hangs it, overcome once more. “I’ll never be allowed back to Heaven.” 

A sudden fury fills Michael, an anger that is overwhelming. “Do not say such things!” he says loudly, nearly yelling. In all his years, he has never yelled, has never felt the urge to. Least of all at Lucifer. Lucifer who has been his only friend and companion in carrying this burden that is his soul. “Do not presume to be God! To make proclamations! It is not your decision that allows the souls into Heaven or the dark and blackened ones into Hell. It is God’s. To be filled–to speak with such conviction when it is not your decision to make–” He stops speaking abruptly, so overcome with anger that he cannot make the thoughts in his mind take form. 

“For shame,” he says finally, after a silence that may have lasted years. “To have such little faith in the Lord and the Lord’s faith in you.....”

And Lucifer looks up at him with those words, a horrible expression upon his faith. “How dare you,” he breathes, still unshed tears shining in his eyes. “How dare you to presume my faith in the Lord. I, who have lived my entire life alone. Without God, without the angels or the Melachim or Seraphim. I, who must find the Grace of God while surrounded by the very worst of His creations. You do know. You have always known. You cannot imagine. 

“So what,” he continues as Michael opens his mouth to argue, hardly noticing that they’ve moved further away from one another, that their hands no longer hold one another’s. “So what of the soul you have had for a few thousand years? You have had me in that time, me to teach you and guide you and wipe the blood from your face when sanity left you.

“I had no one. I was left to understand my soul on my own. I have not seen God since the Giving of Names and yet I still perform the task set upon me. You–” and he laughs then, a terrible laugh of anger and madness. “You were given your task, with the sight of God before you whenever you so wished it and _still_ you doubted, still you questioned God when it was not your purpose. Shame on _my_ soul for no faith?” Lucifer questions, voice and tone both mocking. “Shame on _yours_.”


	5. Part Five

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which a tentative peace is made.

Michael blinks, his mouth falling open in shock. His mind works quickly backwards to review the last moments and the words that were spoken. The red hot anger leaves him, replaced with the soft flush of shame and pain that slowly creeps up the back of his neck to stain his face.

“I-- you are right,” he says finally. “I did not realize. I could not have.” He is silent, looking down at his hands, at his fingers twisting one around the other as though they each possess a mind of their own. He fights battle with himself, a battle of only moments. He holds his silence until the outcome is decided and then he raises his head. Lucifer is looking forward, and though his eyes are on Michael’s face, Michael feels as though Lucifer is looking straight through him, with his steady gaze and hardened features. 

“Can you forgive me?” he asks. 

*****

Lucifer flinches when the question leaves Michael’s mouth, as he comprehends it. His initial reaction remains fury--how Michael can hurl such an insult at him, so unknowingly and in the next breath to claim understanding and beg forgiveness? If Michael truly understood, he would not request forgiveness so quickly. He would know that Lucifer was not in a position to provide it. Even now, knowing that Michael believes himself to understand--still the hurt is so fresh and raw inside of Lucifer that he cannot bear the pain of looking upon Michael’s face. 

Overwhelmed, he cloaks himself in smoke to give his mind the time to work out his feelings, though he cannot help but think how fitting it is that he should be hiding the evidence of his sin and shame with the vary vapors of Hell. His wings lay tight against his back and he realizes, quite suddenly and with some detachment, that he is shivering, almost shaking. His movements are causing his feathers to stir and they tickle the back of his spine. Desperately, he fights down the hysterical urge to laugh.

It is all far too much.

“No.”

Michael’s face registers shock, caught unawares. “No?” he echoes, stammering.

“No,” Lucifer says, the words coming with an unbidden harshness from his mouth. For a moment, he is sure that he is as shocked as Michael looks. “No. You must leave.” 

Michael’s expression shifts quickly from shock as it crumples and Lucifer feels a rush of such pure anger and hurt that he nearly assaults Michael where he sits. 

“You must leave,” he repeats, and his voice trembles with the effort of keeping himself in his place. “Now.” 

“But,” Michael begins, bewildered. “Lucifer--” and there is unshadowed pain now on Michael’s face and in Michael’s voice. Lucifer thinks, vicious and vindictive, that perhaps now Michael feels a fraction of the pain that Lucifer feels himself. 

“I will--I cannot look at you now,” Lucifer says bluntly, and Michael jerks as though slapped. “You have--you have hurt me in a way that I have seen no mortal man hurt another and I--” 

Lucifer takes a deep breath, the truth of his words hurting him more now as they are spoken aloud. And yet--yet a wave of pity fills him suddenly, though he doesn’t know from where it comes. What is between them both, the millennium and the memories, deserves more than this sharp and jagged break. 

“I fear that if you stay, if you do not allow me to come to forgiveness on my own--I fear that I will never find it within me to forgive you. So you must leave,” he says for the last time. “Do you understand?” he asks, finally managing to direct his question straight to Michael’s white face. “I have so much anger within me now that I do not know myself.” 

Michael is staring up at him and from the expression on his face, Lucifer believes that Michael either must not understand his meaning or is misunderstanding it altogether. 

Not quite sure that it is the right thing to do, not quite sure that he will be able to limit himself from this unassuming touch, Lucifer reaches out his arm to grasp Michael’s hand in his own. Michael starts at the contact, his eyes looking on their hands, their fingers locked one with the other. 

“Michael,” Lucifer says quietly, and now Michael’s eyes dart up to lock with Lucifer’s own. “I--I don’t wish for either of us to hurt one another anymore than we already have. I am far too angry to consider forgiveness and you--you will not leave until you receive it,” he finishes sadly. He is silent for a moment, gathering his thoughts and feelings into himself, and then suddenly leans forward, pulling Michael’s hand closer into his lap. Fervent, though calm, his dark eyes share a steady gaze with Michael’s blue ones. “Will you go?” 

Michael opens his mouth and as he hesitates, Lucifer’s hurt and longing interrupt with one last word, “Please?”

Lucifer sees Michael’s decision made as firm resolve snaps into place on his face. “Yes,” Michael says and then “Yes,” again. “Of course. How--of course,” Michael says again, pulling his hand from Lucifer’s. He should have known that Michael would not linger, and the angel’s next words confirm his thoughts. “I’ll leave immediately,” he babbles, shaking his wings out behind himself, preparing for flight. His face gives the illusion of composure, but Lucifer knows him well enough to see the shift of muscles in Michal’s knees as he fidgets from one foot to the other; can read the nervousness in the way that Michael’s eyes dart around the room, never settling on one object in the room for more than an instant. 

His wings sweep upwards and Lucifer remembers a time, not long ago, when Michael had stood there in much the same way, preparing to leave. Lucifer had stopped him then, but he is forcing him to go now. 

“I suppose--I suppose I will not see you for some time, then?” Michael asks, showing hesitance in his decision for the first time. There is a battle within Michael, of wishing to stay and make it right, even knowing that it cannot be made right until he leaves. The battle is clear and obvious on Michael’s face.

“No. I suppose not,” Lucifer answers. His voice is steady, but he is unable to meet Michael’s eyes as he says it. 

Nor does he look when Michael’s wings push downward through the air, propelling him upwards and away with a sharp crack. For the moment between one heartbeat and the next, a short eternity, Lucifer stares blankly at his own hands.

But then his heart beats again. And in that moment, he turns his cheeks to the expanse of his pillow, crying until he thinks his soul must have broken, forever and only the lonely Lord of Hell.


	6. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which not a lot is said, but much is understood.

They meet only once more, centuries later. Flying over Jerusalem, they pass each other in the sky. Michael’s wings still in mid-beat, shock taking the breath from his so quickly that he is near to gasping. Lucifer’s own flight hesitates for just a moment, the straight line of his path stuttering. It is only a moment, though, before Lucifer’s wings sweep downward once more and he moves to pass Michael.

“No!” Michael yells, his cry carried to the four corners. He reaches out, instinct urging him to grab Lucifer’s forearm so that he may hold him back.

And just as he had done so many years before, the first time that they had met, Lucifer becomes motionless. Only his head moves, turning to slowly to bring Michael’ back into his line of vision. The rest of him is silent and still. Waiting.

“I—I never told you that I was sorry,” Michael stammers desperately, not knowing from where the words come. “I never told you I was sorry. I hurt you and I asked for your forgiveness but I never said that I was sorry.” The words rush out of him, maddened and hurried. “Lucifer—please—you have to—”

Lucifer interrupts him gently. “Angel. You’ll bring yourself to tears if you don’t calm down.”

Startled, Michael releases Lucifer’s arm. He opens his mouth to speak and then shuts it quickly, seeing the hint of a smile on Lucifer’s lips that is both sadness and laughter. Michael considers and then considers again. It’s been a long time, certainly, but—

“Thank you,” he says quietly.

Lucifer shrugs. The sound of feathers brushing against feathers is crushing in the otherwise silent atmosphere. “It is not as though either of us would not have chosen Him,” he says finally. 

And though it may have been a few centuries, Michael knows exactly what he means.


End file.
